


What A Picture is Worth

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Gen, Ross Used to Be a Bridge Troll, Spring Sprite AU, This is a Birthday Fic Why Did I Write a Sad?, in a glade 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Arin meets someone he never thought he would at an art show.





	What A Picture is Worth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HerbertBest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerbertBest/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Marie! I wrote you a sad thing for some reason, but I hope you love it anyway! <3
> 
> Takes place in @HerbertBest's In A Glade 'verse! Seriously, go check out Lambs in a Snowstorm and all the other stories in this collection, this AU needs more love!

Arin both loved and hated art shows. He loved seeing people react to his work, and yeah, he liked the bit of cash they brought in, but he could honestly do without everything else about them, the crowds, the noise. Since his work was fantasy based most of his shows were hosted in trendy downtown clubs or similarly trendy hipster brewpubs, and this one was no exception. There were 36 craft beers on tap, none of which Arin would drink, and plenty of appetizers being passed around that he was too keyed up to eat, not that he wanted… were those tiny grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup shots? He’d rather be at home, working on his art and eating pizza and counting the days until spring. But no, instead he was here, in jeans and a t-shirt and a suit jacket, walking around the space, trying to look like he wasn’t a stalker, wasn’t fishing for compliments on his work or just trying to push a sale. He had a manager to handle sales. Arin had made his speech and now it was his job to mingle and be charming and try not to look like he was counting down the minutes until the show was over.

Arin pasted a smile on his face and moved through the crowds of people, making polite small talk over the sound of someone playing acoustic guitar in the corner. Nod, smile, nod, inane pleasantry, smile, nod, smile. His manager caught his eye over the crowd, smiling in a particularly skeevy way as he gave a thumbs up. Sales must be going well then. Good, maybe they’d sell everything quickly and Arin could duck out early. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The crowd around Arin slowly thinned and dispersed as everyone who wanted to talk to the artist did so. Arin relaxed slightly, slipping his hands in his pockets, content to walk around, watch people enjoying his art, discreetly check on which pieces had sold already. Most anything with Dan in it tended to sell straight off the bat, but the pieces he had done of Jack in his various guises tended to sell nearly as fast.

Arin headed toward a corner of the space that seemed to be less occupied than the rest, for whatever reason. Maybe it was too far away from the food or the music, which honestly made Arin like the little corner even more. There was only one other person occupying the space, and the painting they were staring at was one of Arin’s favorites. In it Dan was kneeling by an old stone bridge, his peacock wings fanned out behind him, catching the light, his forehead crowned with ivy and roses.

Arin walked quietly behind the man looking at his painting, trying not to feel weird about admiring his own work. “This is one of my favorites.” Arin said.

“I remember that bridge,” the man said softly, not turning around. His dark brown hair shone under the lights. “I remember it when it was new, before all the moss grew in. I remember how there was always this one loose stone that didn’t fit in it with all the rest, and I kept trying to replace it before Suzy told me how unhappy it was. I swapped it with a loose stone on another bridge and both stones stayed where I put them after that.”

Arin felt his breath catch when the man mentioned Suzy’s name. He hadn’t imagined that, right?

“I used to walk that bridge every day,” the man continued. “You have to keep walking the paths, to remind them what they’re for, to keep them clear. It gives them purpose. Who does that now?”

Arin licked his lips nervously. He had a feeling he knew who he was talking to, and denying that he knew what the man was talking about would only serve to upset him. “Holly does,” he said quietly.

“Ah.” The man nodded. “Yeah, she would. She’d feel it was her responsibility. She was always concerned with responsibility, and so was I, in my own way. I had a responsibility to the forest and to my own heart and in the end, I couldn’t choose between them. So she chose for me. I could hate her for that. It’d be easy. Except the choice she made was the right one after all.” The man’s voice sounded a little thick, like he was holding back tears. “I can’t help but miss them though, Dan and Jack and Suzy and Brian. And Holly. You know them, obviously. Did you fall in love with Dan?” The man gestured towards the painting.

“Yeah,” Arin said softly. “Yeah I did.”

“And she let you stay.” It wasn’t a question, and the man didn’t wait for an answer. “I knew he was always first in her heart. She’d never hurt him, if she could help it.” The man sighed. “Enjoy him while you can. And keep making art. I’d have that one, if I could,” he gestured toward the wall. “There was a time when I could have bought every piece in this place with gold that would vanish in the morning sun. But that was then.”

“Take it.” Arin’s voice was firm. “It’s yours.” His manager would have a fit, but fuck it.

“I don’t have anything to repay you with,” the man said. “I could have given you luck, once.”

“It’s a gift freely given,” Arin said, because you didn’t hang out with forest sprites without learning _something._

“Well that’s fine then.”

Arin watched the man take the painting from the wall, then start to walk toward the door.

“Wait!” Arin called. “Ross?”

Ross turned around, his impossibly blue eyes shining wetly in the light. “Yeah?”

“Do you want me to… tell them anything?”

“Tell the others I miss them,” Ross said. “And if she’ll listen… tell Holly she was right.”

A second later and Ross was gone, leaving Arin standing there, staring at the empty spot on the wall.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was supposed to be 1000 words, because that is also what a picture is worth, but the word count between Scrivener and AO3 sometimes varies. We'll call the extra six words inflation.


End file.
